


Of Textbooks and Roommates

by ShitabuKenjirou



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, How to even tag this, M/M, because that's just how their relationship works and how i like writing them best, get ready for lots of bickering yall, here i am with my promised college/uni au fic, tbh i hate putting tags on this because Spoilers but then again this is probably what yall expect so
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-25
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2018-12-22 06:50:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11961987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShitabuKenjirou/pseuds/ShitabuKenjirou
Summary: Yahaba was a simple guy with simple wants and simple needs. He was looking forward to attending university, having finally finished high school, even though the absence of volleyball would stick out like a sore thumb. He was looking forward to starting a new life, where his demanding parents couldn't quite follow him. He was looking forward to meeting new people, even making some new friends if he got the chance, being the only one of his friend group that decided to leave Miyagi.What he didn't need was being roommates with a snotty brat called Shirabu Kenjirou, who acted like he'd rather jump off a cliff than breathe the same oxygen Yahaba did.Yahaba was pretty sure that significant detail would stand in the way of living a better life. But then again, life had a nasty habit of proving him wrong.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Oh boy, I feel like the synopsis for this sounds so much more interesting than the actual story I'm going to write. Whelp, that's just how it is then ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Aaaaand I am back with another yahashira fic, because this ship brings me life and also needs infinitely more content. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy the first chapter!

Yahaba gazed up at the dorm building, his mouth nearly falling open as he took in the sheer size of it. At least four storeys tall, with rows upon rows of windows, the generic dark blue curtains behind them either letting the light of the setting sun seep through or keeping the rooms in near-darkness, some of them opened to fill the small spaces with the crisp spring breeze. 

_Exactly_ how _many students are living in this place?_

Yahaba took a deep breath, clutched the straps of the duffel bag thrown across his shoulder with one hand, tightened his grip on his suitcase with the other. As he made his way towards the entrance, he passed many other students mulling about, getting their baggage out of cars, receiving hugs from family members about to leave their children to fend for themselves.

This afternoon, Yahaba had taken the train to Tokyo, determined to find his place on his own, and left his parents back in Miyagi without as much as a goodbye. And while most students might have been struggling with the idea of living alone, without their parents around… When Yahaba had boarded the train, all he’d felt was relief.

Relief, and excitement. And nerves, because one didn’t just start a whole new life without feeling nervous.

All those years, his parents had done nothing but constantly hover over his shoulder, making sure he was keeping up his grades, making sure he was building a future for himself. Multiple times they’d threatened to make him quit volleyball if his grades dropped, but Yahaba, for both his sake and his parents’, managed it all, and so they saw no reason to follow through on that threat.

He’d endured it all until his college entrance exams, until he saw the opportunity to attend university in Tokyo and took it without a second thought. The idea that no one would order him around and tell him what to do, the idea of a fresh start, was incredibly liberating, and that was Yahaba’s one and only reason to choose Tokyo over Miyagi, where Watari was attending uni and where his friends were close.

When Yahaba entered the dorm building and stepped into a huge, crowded hall, he didn’t allow himself to have second thoughts about this decision. _It’s all going to work out_ , he reminded himself, weaving through the swarm of students until he found the counter. _I made the right choice. Here I’ll be happy._

He had to wait fifteen minutes until he could pick up the key to his dorm room, and after receiving a few instructions from the man behind the counter, he was on his way to the elevators. _Fourth floor, number 416._

Yahaba had read the information about the dorm rooms over and over until the sentences were burned into his mind. Both the toilets and showers were shared with all the people from that floor. On every floor there was a living room-like space somewhere for the students to chill and hang out as if they were all best friends getting drunk together, and a shared kitchen space for people who’d decided to cook their own food rather than eat in the humongous cafeteria on the ground floor. 

And since his room was a double room, Yahaba was going to have a roommate.

Yahaba had thought about his soon-to-be-roommate more often than he would like to admit, wondered what he’d be like, imagined what would happen if they didn’t get along. More often than not, he brushed the thoughts away, knowing that no matter what he’d come up with, life would dismiss his ideas anyway. 

That didn’t stop him from wondering, though. And there was also worrying involved. Quite a lot of it, even.

Yahaba neared the room that was supposed to be his, and he held his breath as he tried the door, checking if it was open. It seemed to still be locked, and Yahaba sighed in relief. At least he had a little bit of time alone to unpack and think over his life decisions for the hundredth time today in peace. 

He jammed the key in the lock, and after a few tries, the door swung open, revealing a room about the size of an average bedroom with two desks, two small wardrobes, and a bunk bed miraculously smushed together in a way that still left some space to move. The window was left open to let in some air, and the dark blue curtains stirred slightly in the breeze.

 _Dibs on the top bunk_ , Yahaba thought with a smile.

He closed the door behind him and dumped his stuff on the bottom bunk of the bed pushed into the right corner of the room next to the window. Then he threw the curtains open to draw in more natural light, and watched the view the fourth floor allowed him. From this window, he looked out on a park nearby, right through the gap between two other buildings, and the sun was slowly descending behind the trees in a way Yahaba could get used to. 

Yahaba turned on his heels, and started pulling his clothes from his duffel bag and stacking them in one of the wardrobes. He tried to lose himself in the movements, slowly letting his mind adjust to the new environment. 

When he was done with his clothing, he started arranging some of his things on the desk next to the window he claimed as his, putting his textbooks and notebooks in the drawers, setting a cup filled to the brim with pencils and pens on the table surface. The orange glow of the sunset warmed the whole room, and Yahaba felt almost peaceful as he arranged the copies of his favourite books he brought on the corner of the desk. 

That peace was interrupted, however, when the door swept open and slammed against the wardrobe closest to the back wall, revealing a boy hauling a large sports bag over his shoulder with one hand and holding an enormous suitcase with the other. He pulled the headphones he was wearing from his ears, letting them dangle from his neck.

“Whoops,” the boy said, sounding quite apathetic. He started tugging his belongings in the tiny room, which started to feel more and more cramped by the second. 

“Are you my roommate?” Yahaba asked, feeling like he was inquiring the obvious.

“Why else would I be here?” the boy countered, dumping his sports bag on the other desk. 

Yahaba sighed. _Oh boy, looks like I pulled a sassy roommate out of the roommate lottery._

The boy rummaged through the sports bag, paying Yahaba no attention at all, and Yahaba eyed the boy curiously. He seemed familiar somehow, but Yahaba couldn’t put a finger on what made him feel that way. It was something about the intensity of his eyes, those eyebrows that appeared to be permanently set in a frown, that he could’ve sworn he’d seen somewhere before.

It hit him when the boy janked out a phone charger, and a t-shirt got dragged along out of the mess. A sports jersey with pink sleeves, and a big number 1 printed on the front.

“Hey, wait a second,” Yahaba said. The boy froze, and gave him a questioning look, almost as if he expected to get scolded. 

“I know you,” Yahaba continued. “Shirabu, right?”

The boy narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “How do you know my name? I don’t think I’ve met you before.”

Yahaba tried not to let that offend him. “Weren’t you captain of the Shiratorizawa volleyball team?”

The boy -- Shirabu? -- crossed his arms, still clutching the phone charger. The suspicious look started to change into a death glare. “How do you know?”

The longer this conversation went on, the more ridiculous Yahaba felt. “I used to be captain of Aoba Johsai’s volleyball team,” he explained awkwardly. “I think we played each other once during the last Spring tournament.”

Finally, Shirabu’s eyes widened in recognition. “Oh, right.” A moment later, they narrowed again. “I’m sorry, your name is lost on me.”

“Yahaba,” Yahaba said. “Yahaba Shigeru.”

Shirabu hummed in understanding. “Right,” he repeated. “I remember now.”

He jammed the phone charger he was still holding in the nearest socket, and plugged in his seemingly nearly dying phone before he turned to Yahaba again, taking him with his intense gaze. Yahaba felt as if he was being analyzed, or read like an open book, and he didn’t like the feeling in the slightest.

“What happened to your hair?” Shirabu asked, his fingers drifting to the disconnected cord of his headphones. 

Reflexively, Yahaba’s hand flew up to his head, touching the shaved skin of his undercut. He’d decided to go for a new look a week before he left to Tokyo. His friends had acted like the world was coming to an end, proclaiming that the day Yahaba let go of his angelic facade was the equivalent to doomsday. His parents had probably disapproved, but since they didn’t utter a word at the sight of Yahaba’s changed appearance, Yahaba had decided not to care.

Now that he thought about it, the fact he’d changed his hair was probably the reason Shirabu hadn’t recognized him at first.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Yahaba pointed out, eyeing the short mess of hair similar to how his old teammate Hanamaki had worn it. No single trace left of the bangs he used to sport. 

Shirabu stayed silent for a while, as if debating whether or not to reveal that kind of information.

“I got tired of it,” he said eventually. “So I cut it.”

He roughly ran a hand through his hair, and some of the strands stood up in its wake. “But I hate it.”

“Oh,” was the only thing Yahaba could say. An awkward silence settled between them, in which Shirabu started fiddling with his charging phone, probably setting up the WiFi or texting someone.

_You came here to make new friends. Then start befriending him, idiot. Talk to him._

“So...” Yahaba tried. “We’re gonna be roommates, so maybe we should--”

“Oh, yeah, about that,” Shirabu interjected, not looking up from his phone. “I’m taking the top bunk.”

Yahaba laughed forcedly. “Uh, no. _I’m_ taking the top bunk. I was here first, so I get to choose first.”

Shirabu’s gaze moved up to Yahaba, and he gave him a glare. Yahaba didn’t like being the target of that glare.

“You think that’s how it works?” Shirabu asked incredulously. “That’s unfair.”

“I don’t think it is,” Yahaba said, crossing it arms. “I’d expected neither of us would want the bottom bunk, so I think who was here first fairly decides--”

“Okay, listen, wise guy,” Shirabu interrupted him, again. Yahaba felt the need to punch something. _So he is sassy and rude, huh?_

“I’m barely sleeping enough as it is,” Shirabu continued, his glare sharpening to the point Yahaba thought it’d burn a hole through him. “And not being able to see the ceiling makes me antsy, so if I want any sleep at all I think I should have the right to get the top bunk.”

Yahaba felt his lips curl. “No offense, but that sounds like bullshit. How do I know you’re not making shit up to get what you want?”

That seemed to make something snap in Shirabu. “You think I’m making this up?” he snapped, his voice rising. “Why the fuck would I lie about that?”

“Fuck if I know, I don’t know shit about what you do!” Yahaba yelled, throwing up his hands in frustration. “Look, I’m just trying to solve the problem here--”

“The problem would’ve been solved if you stopped being stubborn,” Shirabu cut in, interrupting Yahaba for the third time.

Yahaba groaned. “You’re the one being stubborn! If you just accepted that I fairly got the rights to the top bunk because I was here first--

“That’s not _fucking fair_!” Shirabu yelled. “Why do you get to decide? I live here too!”

“Well, _someone’s_ going to have to sleep on the bottom bunk,” Yahaba pointed out, placing his hands on his hips, more to prevent himself from doing stupid things than anything else.

“And if you keep going on like that, _no one_ is going to sleep on that bunk,” Shirabu seethed. “You’re rubbing me the wrong way, asswipe. Stop being so fucking difficult.”

“Oh, I’m _clearly_ not the only one being difficult here,” Yahaba said, having a hard time keeping himself from raising his voice too much. “Look, one of us has to swallow his pride and--”

“Don’t give me that ‘trying to be reasonable’ shit when you’ve been putting yourself on a pedestal from the start,” Shirabu spat, cutting Yahaba off yet again. “You know what, fuck this.” 

He turned on his heels and went out the door. Yahaba was certain that if the door had been closed, the guy would have sent the thing flying into the wall so hard it would’ve been audible from the other side of Tokyo. 

“Hey, where are you going? We’re not finished here!” Yahaba yelled, popping his head out the door to see Shirabu stalking down the hallway with stiff shoulders and balled fists. 

“I’m going to change rooms,” Shirabu called over his shoulder. “I’d rather sleep in the dirt than room with you.”

And with that, he rounded the corner leading towards the stairs and disappeared. 

~~~

“So, I entered the dorm room, right? And then, okay, you won’t believe this. You know that guy who was Karasuno’s captain this year? Ah, shit, I forgot his name again.”

“Ennoshita,” Yahaba said. He remembered the former captain well. Like himself, Ennoshita wasn’t a prodigy like the captain before him used to be. But he was just as fierce, just as determined and fit to lead the team. 

It was almost a shame Aoba Johsai beat them in both tournaments, cutting Karasuno’s advance to nationals short once -- uh, twice -- again.

“Yes!” Watari snapped his fingers on the other side of the screen, and he leaned closer to the camera. “So I entered the dorm room, and that guy was sitting on one of the beds, calling his mom or something. Turns out he’s my roommate! We got talking, and he’s pretty chill. Who would’ve thought?!”

“Sounds real exciting, Shinji,” Yahaba said, managing to smile sincerely. He sat up straight, working the knots out of his back from sitting on his bed, hunched over his laptop, for too long.

“It is! He gave me the number of their old libero, Nishinoya is his name. We’ve been chatting on and off all evening! He’s so cool. And look at his profile picture!” Watari turned the screen of his phone to the laptop’s camera, showing Yahaba a picture of the libero. “Damn, I wish I had hair like that.”

Yahaba laughed. “Look at you, making friends from the get go. You haven’t changed a bit since the beginning of high school.”

“Aw, is former captain getting emotional over his kids?” Watari teased.

“I wish I could deny that, but you know I can’t,” Yahaba said, and Watari chuckled. 

Yahaba had to admit, despite that it was a lot of work and a lot of pressure, being captain was one of the best experiences of his life. Truly being able to fight for your team, representing the strength and passion of his teammates, was an honour and a privilege Yahaba wouldn’t forget easily. He hoped with all his heart that Kindaichi, whom he’d chosen to be captain this upcoming year, would wear that name with as much pride as Yahaba had. 

Shit, he was going to miss volleyball so much.

He was very aware that the university he attended had one of the best volleyball programs in the country, but even if Yahaba had the time to keep that up in between his studies, he knew he didn’t have the potential to go pro or something like that. He was still on the lookout for a team he could join to play recreationally, but it was obvious that wouldn’t be the same as what he’d had before.

“What’s your dorm like?” Watari asked, interrupting his train of thought. “You have a roommate too, right? What’s he like?”

Yahaba groaned, dragging his hands down his face. “Please don’t get me started.”

“Oh no. Who pissed you off?”

“Who do you think?” Yahaba sighed exasperatedly. “Guess who I’m rooming with.”

“Please don’t tell me it’s Futakuchi. I hate that guy,” Watari said, his nose wrinkling in disgust.

That startled a laugh out of Yahaba. “No, no. Not Futakuchi. My roommate is worse.”

“Who on the planet is worse than Futakuchi?” Watari wondered aloud. “You must be suffering real bad right now. Is he there? I’m gonna yell at him.”

“He’s not here. Thank god for that,” Yahaba added. It was about two hours after Shirabu had run of, claiming he’d changed rooms despite that the probability of finding a different place to stay was near zero. Yahaba didn’t mind the silence at all.

“What’s his name? Do I know him?” Watari asked, seeming eager to hear any details.

“It’s Shirabu.” Just the name left a bitter taste on Yahaba’s tongue. “Former captain of Shiratorizawa.”

“Wait. You mean the guy with the bangs and the nasty glare?”

Yahaba snickered. “The very one. He got rid of the bangs, though. But his glare is as nasty as ever.”

“Ouch.” Watari cringed visibly. “How’d you find that out?”

Yahaba’s smile faltered. “We.. argued about who should get the top bunk. And it kind of escalated.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Which is pretty stupid now that I think about it.”

“Looks like you won, though,” Watari pointed out. “I can see you’re occupying the very bed you fought about.”

“Actually, I took the top bunk after he ran away insisting he’d change rooms.”

Watari cackled. “That’s savage. But also painful. Must suck to have a roommate like that.”

“Well--”

Yahaba was cut off by the sound of the door opening, and he looked over his shoulder to see Shirabu slipping inside. He busied himself with unpacking his belongings, not sparing Yahaba a second glance. 

“Speak of the devil,” Yahaba muttered lowly.

“Welp, guess we have to continue this another day,” Watari said regretfully. “I’ll text you in the morning. Good luck on your first day tomorrow.”

“Same to you, Shinji. Take care.”

Watari made a peace sign at him, a habit probably inherited from Oikawa, and ended the Skype call. Yahaba flipped his laptop shut, and let himself fall backward on his bed, watching Shirabu as he filled the empty wardrobe with his clothes. 

“No room change then, I suppose?” he asked, letting a teasing tone slip into his voice.

“Shut up,” Shirabu muttered. “I’m not talking to you.”

Yahaba snorted. “You’re not bitter about the bunk bed thing, are you?”

“Bad nights of sleep I can handle,” Shirabu said, turning to Yahaba. “What I’m bitter about is having to room with some entitled brat who thinks he has the right to order me around.”

“Excuse me? I’m not the entitled brat here,” Yahaba exclaimed. _Here we go again._ “I was just trying to solve the bunk bed problem, but you were being difficult. And it gained you nothing, since you managed to get yourself the bottom bunk anyway.”

“Honestly, what is your deal?” Shirabu sneered, planting his hands on his hips. “Can’t you leave me alone for a second?”

“Well, since we’re roommates, I don’t think either of us is getting some alone time anytime soon.”

Shirabu busied himself with his clothes, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously much like ‘God, please end me’.

Yahaba chuckled once, without a single trace of humour. “You’d think most people would make an effort to get along with their roommate.”

“You say that, but you’re not exactly doing a good job of making yourself seem likeable,” Shirabu said without missing a beat. He slammed closed the doors of the wardrobe and started making his bed.

“Psh, says who,” Yahaba scoffed. “You’re not exactly Mr. Nice Guy.”

“I never was, and I never intended to be,” Shirabu shrugged. “Now, if the only thing you’re going to do is bug or insult me, I’d rather you stay quiet for the rest of the night.”

Yahaba blinked. _Jesus fucking christ, who does he think he is?_

“Okay, I’ve tried being civil--”

Shirabu laughed harshly, the sound anything but joyous. “Ever since you brought up the bunk bed thing, you’ve called me a liar, you’ve tried to tell me what to do, and you’ve insulted me one way or another more than once.”

Shirabu glared up at him, and managed to look menacing even though Yahaba was looking down on him from the bunk bed. “I don’t think you know the meaning of being _civil_.”

Yahaba spluttered. He didn’t like the feeling of being cornered. “Well, I can't say you're the embodiment of welcoming either. You went all hostile on me the moment I mentioned the bunk bed." 

Yahaba sat up straight and leaned forward. "We could’ve solved the problem in a calm and _civil_ manner, but then you were being unreasonably difficult. What is your problem?”

“You sure like the words ‘civil’ and ‘difficult’, don’t you?” Shirabu spat, and turned away to finish off making his bed. “I’m done talking about this.”

Yahaba smirked down on him. “Does that mean I’m right?”

“Right about what?”

“That you’re being difficult.”

Yahaba watched Shirabu take a deep breath, and once again Shirabu’s eyes focused on Yahaba with an intensity that was almost terrifying. 

“Let me make some things clear, fuckwad. You don’t know me. You don’t get to assume things about me. You don’t get to decide what I’m doing, or how I’m doing things.”

Shirabu stepped closer, and Yahaba repressed the urge to shy away. “I understand that the _discussion_ we had before was, quite frankly, really dumb, but I don’t regret standing up for myself. I do what I want, and if that means being difficult, as you call it, you just have to suck it up and deal with it.”

Shirabu turned away, and grabbed his sports bag. He threw it over his shoulder as he swung open the door. 

“Oh, and one more thing,” he said over his shoulder. “I have no intention to get to know you or befriend you in any way whatsoever, so I advice you to just keep to yourself and try your _civility_ on someone else.”

Before Yahaba could react, Shirabu shut the door behind him, and for a while the only noise he could hear was the muted rock music coming from the adjacent room. 

Yahaba groaned, pulling at his hair in frustration. _Of all the roommates I could’ve gotten.. I had to get this entitled brat?_

Once he was sure the urge to catch up with Shirabu and punch him in the face had faded, he slid from the top bunk, trading his casual clothes for a faded t-shirt and an old pair of sweatpants. He quickly dropped by the shared bathrooms to brush his teeth, then crawled back in bed, deciding to read a book by the small night light attached to the wall. 

About twenty minutes later, just past midnight, Shirabu returned to their room, his hair still damp from the shower he’d apparently taken. He dumped his stuff on his desk, hung out the towel he’d used on his desk chair to dry, then holed himself up on the bottom bunk without another word. 

With Shirabu’s arrival, Yahaba completely lost his focus, so after reading the same few sentences for two minutes straight, he snapped the book shut and flipped off the nightlight. He stared up at the ceiling for a while, listening to the muffled music coming out of Shirabu’s headphones, and sighed, covering his eyes with his arm. 

_This is going to be a long year._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's just.. ignore it's been like a month since I last updated. Uni is a pain in the ass, and I'm also working on other writing projects (because apparently I like torturing myself). But anyway.
> 
> Gosh, I'm so glad the response to the first chapter has been so positive!!! I'm really excited to be continuing this story with you, and I hope you can all keep supporting me <3 Thank you all so much for the kudos and sweet comments!! They really motivated me to get the next chapter up soon ^^
> 
> This chapter is kinda short for my taste, and it's not entirely what I was going for, but since it's 2.40 am at this moment, I can't really bring myself to care. I did what I could, so I hope you like the update!!

The alarm on Yahaba’s phone started blaring at him way earlier than Yahaba would’ve liked, and he fumbled around blindly, trying to find the damn thing with still half-sleeping eyes. Once he found it, it took him five tries to make his phone shut up, and he sighed in relief when silence returned. For a moment he wondered if the noise had woken up his spoiled brat of a roommate, but then Yahaba decided that he didn’t care at all.

Yahaba kicked back the covers until his feet were free, then crawled over to the set of stairs attached to the bunk bed. The steps creaked when Yahaba set his feet on them, and he prayed he wouldn’t misplace his feet and make an ugly fall, since the dim light barely allowed him to see his own limbs.

When he glanced at the bottom bunk, he noticed Shirabu was, in fact, very much awake, and he was sending Yahaba the most impressive death glare he’d seen of him so far. 

Shirabu leaned back, supporting his weight with his hands, planted on the mattress on either side of him, his eyes sticking to Yahaba as if he planned on burning a hole through him. Yahaba noticed his headphones were still around his neck. _Did he fall asleep like that? Has he even slept at all?_

“Jesus fucking christ, could you make anymore noise? It’s seven fucking am,” Shirabu said in a low voice that contained an unhealthy amount of venom.

“Shouldn’t you also be getting up?” Yahaba asked him in return, feeling as if the walls started drooping around him. _What a wonderful start of the morning._ “You know the introduction for all new students starts at nine, right?”

“I’m painfully aware of that,” Shirabu grumbled. “What are you gonna take your sweet time for, though? Are you one of those guys that spend half an hour on fixing their hair?”

Yahaba started gathering clothes from his wardrobe. “I just like taking my time,” he said. He didn’t owe his roommate an explanation. No need to tell him that he wanted to take a shower before all the stalls were taken, that he liked to eat his breakfast without having to rush, and that he absolutely hated the idea of being late.

“By all means, take your time. _Silently_ ,” Shirabu grumbled, and with that he disappeared underneath the covers of his bed, probably planning on snoozing for at least half an hour.

 _At least he won’t bother me now_ , Yahaba thought bitterly, as he grabbed a towel and his bag of toiletries, put them on the stack of clothing he’d gathered, and slid out of the room.

Once he’d claimed the last of the showers that was available on their floor, it took Yahaba five minutes to get the water on the right temperature, since the damn shower seemed to have only three temperature settings: ice-cold, a luke-warm that was just not warm enough, and _hot as Satan’s balls fried on a stick_. After countless tries, Yahaba just gave up and scrubbed himself clean as fast as he could, hopping in and out of the stream that was still too hot.

When he was finally done, he almost slipped on the wet floor three times while trying to wiggle into his skinny jeans with damp skin, and his t-shirt escaped from his grip before he could pull it on, giving it a nice wet patch on the side.

Yahaba didn’t want to say his day was ruined before it even started, but he was convinced it couldn’t really get worse from then on.

Shirabu was still buried underneath the covers of his bed when Yahaba returned. For a second Yahaba contemplated being unnecessarily noisy just to piss him off, but instead he just grabbed his backpack and left their room again. _If he’s late, that’s his mistake._

After spending fifteen minutes of queueing for his breakfast in the cafeteria, staring at the stains on the table he sat at as he slowly downed the mediocre food, and walking around the school grounds three times until he found the right building, Yahaba finally plopped down on a seat somewhere in the back of the auditorium, about ten minutes before the introduction of his course was starting.

Yahaba absentmindedly fiddled with some apps on his phone to drive away the anxiety of being in a massive group of people he didn’t know, and sighed in relief as a professor tapped the mic and asked for the students’ attention, finally having something to focus on.

Yahaba struggled not to fall asleep as the prof droned on, talking about what to expect from the course, going through the syllabus, listing people to contact whenever one happened to struggle with something. Halfway through Yahaba stopped listening, and scrolled through his phone aimlessly, wondering what to do once the introduction was over. Do the reading for his first lecture? Try to make some friends? Walk around the school grounds?

One thing he knew for sure was that he wanted to stay away from his dorm room as much as he could, because just the thought of spending any more time than necessary in the presence of his brat of a roommate made him want to punch a wall.

His phone notified him that he had received a snap from Watari, and Yahaba opened Snapchat curiously. _He’d better not be fucking around during a lecture or something_ , he thought, the corners of his lips turning up into a smile.

The picture Watari had sent showed him taking a selfie with Karasuno’s former captain, Ennoshita, awkwardly holding up his hand in a peace sign, and two more faces Yahaba didn’t recognize, with the caption _‘grabbing a bite with my new buds!!’._

Yahaba smiled at the joyous glint in Watari’s eyes, and sent him a quick _‘have fun!’_ before closing the app, suddenly very aware of the emptiness inside his chest.

_This is what you wanted, right?_

Yahaba studied the wall with an unusual amount of interest until the prof was done talking, and the moment the students were allowed to leave he shot out of his seat. He strode out of the building with his hands buried in his pockets, trying to ignore the weight of unease settling in his stomach.

He wandered around the school grounds, doing his best to pin down his thoughts with reason. _It’s just a bad day. Not all of university will be like this. It’ll be easier once you get to work and make some friends._

_It will be fine._

_This is what I wanted._

At a certain moment he broke out of his thoughts and found himself at some kind of student cafe. He went in, planning to order some tea and relax in a booth somewhere in a quiet corner, maybe get started in the book he’d brought with him, when a familiar voice he hadn’t heard in a while stopped him in his tracks.

“Yahaba-chan?”

Yahaba turned on his heels, facing the source of the voice, and stared into a face he didn’t think he would see again so soon.

“O-oikawa-san?”

Oikawa smiled at him, repositioning the glasses on his nose. “You’re taking classes here too? Who would’ve thought? What are you majoring in?”

Yahaba dropped his gaze to the floor. “Japanese language and culture.”

“So like, literature and stuff?”

“Basically.”

Oikawa raised his eyebrows. “Sweet. Excited?”

“I _was_ ,” Yahaba sighed, finding it surprisingly easy to open up to his former volleyball captain and upperclassman. “Now.. not so much.”

“Ouch.” Oikawa frowned, then shrugged the messenger bag he was carrying further up his shoulder to keep it from sliding off. “Wanna talk about it?”

“Oh, no, it’s fine, I’m sure you’re busy anyway,” Yahaba said quickly.

“Nah, I’m in no hurry,” Oikawa assured him. “I just got back on campus, and I was going to meet up with some friends here, but I’m a bit early. I have some time to chat before they arrive.”

Yahaba was about to refuse when Oikawa hooked his arm around Yahaba’s and started pulling him to the counter. “Want anything? Drinks are on me.”

Despite himself, Yahaba smiled. “Just tea, thanks.”

Oikawa placed their orders, and when they waited for their drinks to be made, he regarded Yahaba with that unsettling, analytical gaze of his that made Yahaba freeze in place.

“Just wondering, Yahaba-chan, but.. What have you done to your hair?”

~~~

Oikawa had changed quite a lot since Yahaba had last seen him, when he came to watch Seijoh play a match in the Spring tournament last year -- which had been Yahaba’s last Spring tournament. His hair had grown out, the fringe that had been hanging just above his eyes now touching his cheekbones, the strands in the back of his neck pulled into a small ponytail. He seemed more confident, somehow, as if he were right where he belonged. Yahaba almost envied it.

“So this dorm mate of yours,” Oikawa said, pausing to take a sip of his latte, “how bad is he exactly?”

“He’s the worst,” Yahaba spat without missing a beat. “I only met him yesterday but he really pisses me off. He complains constantly about everything I do, and seems to think he can do anything he wants _just because_.”

Oikawa hummed, swirling the coffee in the styrofoam cup he was holding. “You know, I used to hate my roommates as well. They constantly got on my nerves, and they seemed to know exactly what to do to turn my day into a nightmare.”

He chuckled, and took another sip of his drink. “But despite that, we managed to get along after a while. It actually turned out we had quite a lot in common.”

Yahaba snorted at the thought of having anything in common with Shirabu. They were more like polar opposites.

“You have to keep in mind,” Oikawa said, “that university is new for all freshmen. It’s unsettling, being in a new city, living in a strange room with strange people. It’s hard to adjust, leaving behind everything that used to be familiar.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Yahaba mumbled, his gaze turning to the window, watching all those people sitting in grass patches or on benches, walking around, chatting with friends. Like it was completely natural to them. Like it was _easy_.

“And sometimes,” Oikawa continued, dragging Yahaba’s attention back to the conversation. “Sometimes, that changes people. They become cold, rude, apathetic, or lose the attachment to the world around them until they manage to cope, somehow. It’s what my roommates and I experienced as well, and that’s probably why we didn’t get along at first.”

Yahaba eyed him suspiciously. “Don’t tell me.. you think I should just..”

“I’m just saying that maybe you should give it some time,” Oikawa elaborated. “Everything is still new, both for you and your roommate. Maybe you can come to terms with.. each other’s existence when things have settled.”

“You don’t understand,” Yahaba said, narrowing his eyes at Oikawa. “I _hate_ my roommate, and he hates me as well. He’s a legitimate pain to be around, and it’s not even been a day. Why would I expect things to be better if I just give him more time to be an asshole?”

Oikawa snorted at Yahaba’s choice of words. “I understand that mindset. Believe me, I do. But something about this whole thing tells me that it’s not _you_ your roommate is fighting. And I don’t want to pry or assume anything, but maybe that counts for you, too.”

Yahaba huffed. “I still don’t like being around him. _At all_.”

Oikawa smiled reassuringly. “I understand. But keep in mind that it’s just your first day. The rest of the year won’t be like this. Bad times only last for so long.”

Yahaba took a few sips of his tea, the liquid having turned lukewarm after being ignored for too long, and sighed. “I suppose.”

Oikawa reached over the table to pat Yahaba’s shoulder. “Keep your head up, Yahaba-chan. University is supposed to be fun. Give it a few weeks, and I’m sure things will be better by then.”

Yahaba opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by a cheerful voice sounding through the cafe. 

“Tooru! There you are, you beefy noodle.”

Oikawa’s face brightened with his smile, and Yahaba turned in his seat to find a young man with greyish hair walk towards them. When he got closer, Yahaba noticed he had a beauty mark underneath his left eye. 

_He’s beautiful._

“Kou-chan!” Oikawa exclaimed, and jumped out of his seat to give his friend a hug. Despite the height difference, the strange guy lifted Oikawa off his feet and swung him around for a bit.

“Man, it’s been ages,” the guy said, putting Oikawa back on the ground. “How was your-- oh, who’s this?”

Yahaba felt his cheeks redden slightly when the attention was focused on him, and he quickly stood up, trying to form a coherent sentence. 

“Oh, this is Yahaba, my setter kouhai I told you about?” Oikawa beamed, patting Yahaba on his head, to Yahaba’s annoyance. “Apparently he’s taking courses here from now on, isn’t that lovely?”

Oikawa’s friend smiled brightly, and the gesture somehow had the power to put Yahaba at ease. “That’s great! I’m Sugawara Koushi, by the way. Call me Suga,” he said, winking at Yahaba.

Before Yahaba could react, Suga turned back to Oikawa. “Kuroo is on his way, in case you were wondering. He said something about picking up Bokuto from the train station..”

Yahaba awkwardly cleared his throat. “Uh, I guess.. I think I’m gonna..” He pointed his thumb over his shoulder to what he hoped was the exit of the cafe. 

“Oh, right, sure,” Oikawa said. He patted Yahaba on his back. “Take care, Yahaba-chan. We’ll talk again later sometime.”

Yahaba nodded, and left the two friends to their reunion. He fell back on wandering aimlessly around the campus, mulling over the things Oikawa had told him.

On one hand, he found it hard to believe that Oikawa’s words were true. What were the chances that Oikawa’s situation with his roommates and Yahaba’s issue with his own were similar? Just because Oikawa’s problems ended up solving themselves he couldn’t be sure it would be the same for Yahaba. And all that crap about Shirabu not fighting _him_ and vice versa..

_What do you know?_

But on the other hand.. Yahaba really wanted to believe that if he was patient, waited until things got themselves straight, it would get better. Oikawa had been right about the fact that starting a new life in a new place was strange, unfamiliar, sometimes even terrifying. Maybe things would be easier if he gave himself and Shirabu some time to adjust. 

Maybe he should try harder to befriend Shirabu. Then, if Shirabu still hated him after all the effort he’d put into it, he was able to say that he’d tried everything to set things right--

_I have no intention to get to know you or befriend you in any way whatsoever, so I advice you to just keep to yourself and try your civility on someone else._

_Oh, right._

Yahaba sighed. Maybe it would be easier to just befriend someone from his course, then stay over at their dorm as much as he could. Or he could hole up in the library for most of the day--

“Watch out!”

Yahaba barely had time to turn his head in the direction of the call when something -- no, _someone_ \-- barreled into him from the side, making him lose his footing and tumble to the ground. The other person, apparently having a lot more velocity than Yahaba had, crashed into the ground with a loud grunt, and rolled once, twice before finally skidding to a stop. 

For a moment, the only thing Yahaba could hear was the hollow sound of the wheels of the skateboard the person had been riding, slowly rolling over the stones of the pavement before losing its momentum entirely.

Yahaba quickly got to his feet, and relief washed over him as the other person slowly sat upright, clutching one of their wrists with their other hand. “I’m so sorry,” Yahaba said, rushing over to them, “I didn’t watch where I was going--”

Yahaba’s voice got stuck in his throat once he realized whose face he was looking into.

“Jesus fucking christ,” Shirabu spat, disgust apparent in his voice. “It’s like you were placed on this earth just to make my life miserable.”

_Why did I want to befriend him again?_

Yahaba wordlessly offered his hand to help him up, repressing the urge to just walk away, but Shirabu just gave it a pointed look before he got to his feet, brushing some dirt off his ripped jeans. “Maybe keep your eyes open next time, idiot.”

Every drop of guilt Yahaba had about causing an accident suddenly evaporated. “Maybe you should do the same, since you probably could’ve just moved around me.”

Shirabu glared at him. “Maybe you shouldn’t have tried to--”

“ _Maybe_ ,” Yahaba interrupted him, losing his grip on his patience, “you shouldn’t keep blaming _me_ for every single thing that inconveniences you!”

The pressure of the silence that followed was almost unbearable. Shirabu opened his mouth to retort, but no words came out. He frowned at the ground between them, and his arrogant stance seemed to deflate a little. 

“Look, I’m--”

Shirabu cut himself off, and when he glanced up at Yahaba, his gaze turned cold. 

“Forget it.”

Shirabu turned on his heels, picked up the snapback he’d apparently lost during his fall, and put it back on his short mess of hair before stepping back onto his skateboard, leaving Yahaba in the dust without another word.

~~~

It was well after ten in the evening when Yahaba saw Shirabu again.

Yahaba had been sitting on his bed, trying to read a book to get his mind off things -- though it wasn’t really helping -- when Shirabu burst into the room, dumped the sports bag he was carrying (had he picked that up from his dorm when Yahaba was away?) on his desk, and flung himself onto his bed. 

When Yahaba noticed no signs of life coming from his roommate in the next minute, he decided to put his book down and peek over the edge of his bed. Shirabu lay face down on top of the covers, feet dangling from the bed, and didn’t seem to be breathing.

“Are you dead?” Yahaba asked dryly.

“Shut up,” was the muffled answer.

_Okay then._

Yahaba picked up his phone, and discovered he had a text message from Watari.

 **Watari:** How was your first day? :D

Yahaba stared at the message for a long moment before flicking his phone across the bed. The device skidded over the covers and slid past the edge of the bed, clattering to the floor loud enough to make Yahaba cringe. 

“Whoops,” he said lowly.

“What was that?” Shirabu’s voice piped up from the bottom bunk. Judging from the sounds, he shifted to detect the source of the noise.

“My phone.”

Shirabu chuckled softly, and the sound made Yahaba lean over the edge of the bed to glare at him. “What’s so funny?”

Shirabu was sitting up now, lightly massaging his right wrist with his left hand. “Nothing.”

Yahaba sighed, and climbed down the bunkbed to collect his phone. Upon expecting it, he noticed the thing was still alive, but his reckless hurl had created a crack in the screen. 

“Oh, fucking great.”

Shirabu looked up from his hands. “Did you break it?”

Yahaba wordlessly showed Shirabu his phone. Shirabu proceeded to chuckle into his fist.

“What’s so funny?” Yahaba repeated, planting his hands -- one of them still holding his broken phone -- on his hips. _Does he like seeing me miserable or something?_

“You’re such an idiot,” Shirabu said, continuing to massage his wrist. Yahaba noticed he had sports tape wrapped around his fingers.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve that insult, but thank you for your generosity,” Yahaba muttered. “Now please excuse me, I’m going to brush my teeth and then sleep like the dead.”

_I can’t wait for this day to end._

When Yahaba returned, Shirabu was lying on his back, eyes trained on the bottom of the top bunk, headphones over his ears and arms folded underneath his head. He didn’t react when Yahaba entered the room, didn’t react when Yahaba turned off the lights and climbed back onto his bed, his way illuminated by his broken phone screen, didn’t react when Yahaba kept twisting and turning under his covers, restless despite the exhaustion that had been dragging him down all day.

Day one was a failure, it seemed. And he had to change things _now_ , before this turned into a regular occurrence. 

Ever since the start of his third year in high school, Yahaba had been looking forward to university. He’d craved the freedom of learning about stuff he thought was interesting, craved the idea of doing whatever he wanted without his parents monitoring his every move. It appeared to be the ideal place to continue his life. Or, rather, start a new one. 

He wasn’t going to let things like bad days and sucky roommates turn this into a disappointment. 

_Maybe I should approach things differently._

~~~

The next thing he noticed was the alarm of his phone ringing, once again reminding him that spring break was actually over and _yes, this was really happening._

Once he’d banished the annoying sound from existence, Shirabu’s low voice, raspy from sleep, broke the silence once again. 

“Your alarm is way too fucking loud.”

“You’re way too fucking annoying,” Yahaba groaned, making his way down that impossible set of stairs, nearly losing his footing in the process.

“I had like, two hours of sleep left, but then you had to break through it, hadn’t you?”

“Then just go back to sleep, for god’s sake,” Yahaba said, pulling a set of clothes out of his wardrobe. “Saves me some trouble, too.”

“Unlike most people, I can’t _just go back to sleep_ after I wake up. So thanks for ruining my day,” Shirabu muttered, sitting up as well and pulling open the curtains, dowsing the room in the morning light.

“I guess we’re even then, since you ruined mine yesterday,” Yahaba pointed out, yanking a t-shirt over his head. 

“Wow, easy on the salt there. Do you usually get so grumpy in the mornings?”

Yahaba sighed, and turned to glare at Shirabu. “I’m just done playing nice. If you don’t want to be friends, fine. So be it. I’m not going to try anymore. So it’d be nice if you could just pretend I don’t exist instead of pissing me off every possible second.”

For once, Shirabu was silent. He dropped his gaze to the floor, fidgeting with his fingers, which somehow still had the sports tape wrapped around them.

“Also,” Yahaba added, “you’re one to talk.”

He grabbed his backpack and slid out the room, allowing Shirabu no opportunity to react.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to sleep now. See y'all in a month, probably.
> 
> As always:  
> Hit me up on tumblr @shitabukenjirou if you feel like it!
> 
> Comments are very much appreciated <3

**Author's Note:**

> So uh. Yeah.
> 
> For the people who also follow Of All the People in the World.. I don't have an excuse. I'll update as soon as I can, and god knows when that'll be because uni is gobbling up all my time and energy. (Why did I decide to write two fics at the same time rip)
> 
> Tiiiny disclaimer: I love Shirabu with all my heart, okay? He's being hostile for a reason. One I can't name because spoilers. But I'm not turning him into the villain here. The boy has struggles like all humans.
> 
> Please let me know what you think of this chapter!! :D
> 
> As always:  
> Hit me up @shitabukenjirou on tumblr if you feel like it! (aka fangirl with meee)
> 
> Comments/feedback is very much appreciated <3


End file.
